It's a Pākehā problem

When Andrew Judd, the former New Plymouth mayor, came out on national television as ‘a recovering racist’, he hit a collective raw nerve. Describing himself as ‘male, pale and frail’, Andrew admits he’s an unlikely prophet for change, but he’s now on a mission from God …

When Andrew Judd became mayor of New Plymouth in 2013 he had never stepped foot onto a marae. He was a proud supporter of Don Brash’s infamous ‘Kiwi not iwi’ policy, and a champion of the white middle-class male. Today, Andrew admits that he was wrong. He has now become a voice calling out to middle New Zealand, exposing the implicit racism that is destroying our collective soul.

‘I’m 52 this year, raised an Anglican, and I did all the things that I perceived a good Christian person did,’ recalls Andrew. ‘I went to church on Sunday, gave donations to faraway lands, walked away thinking that I’m great, and then would cross the road to avoid someone Māori.

‘I never recognised this disconnect. Who did I think Jesus was, a Pākehā farmer from around the coast?’

Born in Masterton, Andrew admits that the dominant Pākehā culture raised him to be racist. He guarded his possessions carefully when going through the lower socio-economic ‘Māori’ parts of town. He felt uneasy when he saw a Māori flag. Settling in New Plymouth, he began (and still runs) a successful practice as a dispensing optician.

But Andrew’s flimsy contact with Māori didn’t stop him forming strong opinions. ‘I would say things like, ‘It’s not fair, there’s no Department of Andrew Judd Aff airs, life is hard for me, too.” ’

All that changed when Andrew was elected mayor of New Plymouth. He campaigned on sensible spending, with the slogan ‘bringing honesty back to local politics’—but Andrew could not have known how prophetic those words would become. He was forced to be brutally honest with himself, with God and with an outraged public.

Just get over it

As mayor, Andrew was surprised that observing a local Treaty of Waitangi (Te Tiriti o Waitangi) settlement was a profoundly moving experience. ‘I saw the body language of pain in Māori—it’s real for Māori. I had never walked in a Māori world and I realised, “Of course it’s not real for me, I’ve never been hurt like that and don’t know anything about the past.” ’

For the first time, Andrew realised that Māori couldn’t ‘just get over it’. He makes the analogy of an intimate relationship: ‘You think of any relationship, and something has happened to create a rift. You think to yourself, “I’ll buy you some flowers, I’ll buy you some chocolate, I’ll take you away for a weekend.” But you’re still upset. And I say, “What’s wrong with you? Haven’t you gotten over that? I bought you flowers and chocolates.” The problem is, we haven’t talked about it—and reconciliation isn’t possible without talking.’

The final moment of crisis came at Owae Marae in Waitara, where Andrew was invited to observe Sir Maui Pomare Day. Sir Maui Pomare was the first Māori doctor and politican. He was at Parihaka in 1881, when the 1500-strong constabulary broke up a peaceful resistance against land confiscation, arresting protestors and destroying their homes.

‘At the marae, they re-enacted the waiata, poi and the beating of the drum that they could hear in the distance as the troops approached Parihaka,’ explains Andrew. ‘As I sat there, watching the tears falling from the eyes of the Māori people, something happened in me. It was the realisation of my ignorance.’ With his mind racing, Andrew confronted with his own defences. ‘All these questions rushed through my mind—do I ignore what I have seen because it’s not politically favourable? Or do I stand up and speak the truth?’

A recovering racist

An internal war raged within Andrew, and he started recognising what he calls his ‘yeah, buts’. ‘Yeah, but life’s hard for everybody; yeah, but we’ve got to move on …’

Andrew started to confront what he labelled ‘deflections’ that kept him in denial. ‘Deflections like, “Well, I didn’t do it. I didn’t steal the land. I didn’t stop the language. At least we’re not as bad as Australia.” I decided to say to myself, “No Andrew, you didn’t steal the land, but you’ve harboured an attitude of ignorance by never learning what happened, by not bothering to pronounce place names correctly, so you are complicit in it.” ’

He began to realise his attitudes did not reflect the thoughts of God. ‘The truth doesn’t harbour anger. The truth sets you free, that’s what I’ve preached all my life,’ reflects Andrew. ‘So something else is wrong, Andrew, I think you’re experiencing … racism.’

It was a Damascus road conversion, confronted with a blinding realisation: that it was not Māori who had it wrong; he had it wrong. ‘We’re wrong; we are the problem, not Māori. It’s us, Pākehā. It’s us, church leaders. It’s us, politicians. It’s us, business people.

‘I truly believe this is an issue for Pākehā to confront, not Māori. The system has been set up for us, yet when it doesn’t work, we blame Māori.’

An honest politician

It was not long before the courage of his convictions was sorely tested. Andrew was heading up a review of local representation and advocated to include an elected Māori seat in council.

He explains in layman’s terms: ‘You can bring in outside experts to help you make good decisions; for example, an accountant has been brought in to a finance committee. It made sense to me to bring in Māori to help with obligations to the Treaty.’

He adds, ‘We cannot sort out our differences if we are not sitting at the same table.’

Andrew ‘absolutely’ knew the decision would be political suicide for him personally, but he could never have predicted the public onslaught. ‘I was spat at in front of my children, I had a man confront me in Nazi uniform, I was called a “left leaning lunatic”, and people stopped me on the street to say I was wrong and misguided.’

But the one incident that haunted Andrew was when a Christian visited him and used the Bible to justify his anti- Māori stance. ‘I really struggled with that. And although I did get support from some Christians, for the most part Christian leaders were deafening by their silence,’ says Andrew.

The Māori seat is the only council seat that can be overturned by a petition and a poll. It’s an example of systemic racism, points out Andrew. And the inevitable happened. A member of the public brought a petition before council, and a public poll voted against Māori representation by 83 per cent.

Yet Andrew refused to give in, and stood by his convictions. In an interview with Seven Sharp, he described himself as ‘a recovering racist’ and the story hit national headlines. Host Mike Hosking challenged Andrew, asking, ‘What is wrong with democracy, that if you are Māori … tall, short, whatever, you can stand for a publically elected body if you want?’ Andrew replied that in an ideal world that may be the case, but Māori do not live in that ideal world, and we all have an obligation to treat Māori as partners under the Treaty of Waitangi.

‘Look, I don’t judge [Mike Hosking],’ Andrew stresses. ‘I have been that man. I understand that perspective. I could see myself in all those people and recognise myself in the vitriolic hate. Acknowledging that was the final release for me from my fear and ignorance.’

The path to peace

Andrew decided not to stand again in last year’s council elections. ‘I can’t be the bait for hate. I thought, “How would it feel to be a young Māori and hear all this hate and vitriol?” You need to find the strength to stand up, but there comes a time when you need to find the strength to step aside.’

Before he left office, Andrew made one last stand. In mayoral chains, he led a three-day walk from New Plymouth to Parihaka, to promote peace in Taranaki. Standing with him was the Bishop of Taranaki. To Andrew’s astonishment, hundreds of people joined him in the hikoi—including people from The Salvation Army. For all who joined, the hikoi symbolised walking away from hatred and walking towards peace.

Andrew reflects back on that dark day when Māori representation was overturned, and he knew his time in politics was over. ‘I drove up to Mt. Taranaki to sit among the trees and find some solace from what I knew was coming. But even then, I could see this would be a catalyst for the conversation we’re having now. So I just want to keep telling my story,’ he says.

‘I feel released, I feel totally blessed. I want to yell it from the rooftops: that if you drop those defences, the truth is within yourself and it will set you free. The question is: what’s in your heart? Because that’s where the truth sits. And isn’t that what I was raised to believe as a Christian, that the truth will set you free?’

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by Ingrid Barratt(c) 'War Cry' magazine, 11 March 2017, pp6-9
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